


Forever (Right Now)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [51]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: After a moment, she moves to the mole all the way on Angela’s side, pausing to enjoy the huff of a laugh Angela releases at the feeling of hot breath on her most ticklish point before she actually plants a kiss there.  By now, of course, she knows the appropriate amount of pressure to not tickle her girlfriend when she does this, but it is fun to tease Angela like this, drawing things out.  After all, she has only one mark left before she has kissed the lot of them.Or,Fareeha and Angela wind down after a stressful mission, and enjoy the benefits of having become, by this point in their relationship, familiar with one another's bodies.





	Forever (Right Now)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sealfarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealfarts/gifts).



> a long long time ago (8 may 2018) in a galaxy far far away (tweet dot com) i and mariel had a thought, and the thought was this: _pink mercy sexé_
> 
> now, many months later, i am following thru on our observation that: 1) angela has a few moles on her back 2) we know already she has moles on her chest and 3) she probably has a few elsewhere and we would _really_ like to know where, pretty please
> 
> which is to say i was, am, and will continue to be horny on main, for literally the flimsiest reasons. have some smut

Outside of her quest for justice, for balance, for order, Fareeha is most often driven by curiosity in her personal life.  She wants to _understand_ the world, because it is so much easier to defend it when one knows why it is the way that it is, and to understand the people she serves with, for that makes it all the easier to be in the field with them, to command them, to know what they will do and when.  It was curiosity that drove her to Angela, in the beginning, a desire to understand all her contradictions—but despite this, it is familiarity which keeps her coming back.

There was a moment when she worried, very early on in their relationship, that one day, Angela would cease to be strange to her, would make _sense_ in a way that she suspects their differing worldviews never quite will, and then what would happen?  Would she grow bored?  But after many months together, now, she knows that will never be the case, knows that she could not grow bored of Angela, and that she will never cease to be curious, besides.

In fact, she is surprised to learn, she quite likes how much of Angela’s life is routine, how much of what she does in day to day life is predictable—there is comfort, Fareeha realizes, in that familiarity, comfort in knowing that no matter how chaotic their lives are, no matter what happens in the field, no matter what changes in the world as the Recall is gaining strength and their place in the international sphere shifts, some things will stay the same.  Perhaps she is not so much of a thrill seeker as she always thought.

(That is stretching things—no one who would willingly don an experimental flight suit is ever going to be described as _risk avoidant_ —but perhaps she is not like her mother, after all.  Perhaps she can be satisfied with the risks of her job, and find peace in a partner who is far more steady than she.)

With familiarity comes routine, comes habit, comes a certain comfort with one another that Fareeha did not realize that she craved.  After a long day in the field, it is nice to know, already, what they can expect at home, and it is nice, too, to become comfortable enough that they are no longer ashamed or embarrassed by simply existing around one another. 

With such comfort comes, too, the freedom to discuss worries, to confide in one another, to make the occasional request, and they find themselves here, sitting on their bed after a tiring mission in Lesotho, lights still bright enough to see clearly, Angela holding her hair out of the way while Fareeha examines her bare back, her request having been an easy extension of that familiarity, of that lessened embarrassment, of already established routines.

Even before they were a couple Fareeha knew that Angela’s skin was prone to nevi, saw the moles on her chest when Angela wore lower cut tops, and once they became a couple, she grew more aware of them, the freckles at the tops of Angela’s shoulders, the spots she is now inspecting on her girlfriend’s back.  Before, however, Fareeha did not realize that Angela worried about them, did not even think, with her own unblemished skin and tolerance for the sun, about the possibility of developing skin cancer.

(Angela has lectured her since, and at length, about how she should not take her good health for granted—that just because she has not sustained a major sunburn in her life does not mean that she _might_ not, in the future, nor does it mean that she can ignore warning signs in herself.  What Fareeha does not say, that day, will not admit until a few months later, is that it is not her health she took for granted, but that it was war that would kill her.)

Of course, it makes sense that Angela would worry, she is far fairer than Fareeha, and does not know her own family’s medical history well enough to determine her risk level, and once she brings it up, Fareeha worries, too.  Not as badly as Angela, who owing to what is perhaps an occupational hazard worries far more than she, but enough so that her unconscious mapping of all the marks on Angela’s body becomes decidedly more cautious.

On nights like these, it is useful, when she checks the part of her skin her girlfriend cannot see to ensure that there are no new nevi, and that the old ones are all the same regular, reassuring shape.  Never has she noticed anything out of the ordinary, and tonight is no exception.  Here, a small oval on the small of Angela’s back, here a perfect circle just below her left shoulder blade, here two, so near to one another they form an almost-heart close to her spine at the base of her neck.

“Everything looks good,” she cheerfully reports, having finished counting the marks she knows so well and having seen nothing new.

“You’re certain?” Angela asks her, not moving from her position, and not tense, quite, for this examination is routine between them, something they do every few weeks, but not relaxed, either, “That was very quick.”

“Of course I’m sure,” she could take offense at the implication that she would not be thorough, but this is something that Angela is always anxious about, and she can hardly fault her girlfriend for that, “I know where all of your moles are by heart.” 

(Indeed, she knows _all_ of Angela’s body by heart at this point, for far less medically important and decidedly more _fun_ reasons.)

To prove her point, she bends to kiss the lowest mark, “Here,” says she, and moves to the next, “Here,” again, she punctuates it with a kiss, “Here,” and “Here,” and “Here,” and “Here,” again and again until she has kissed her way to the light, raised oval on the side of Angela’s neck, just at her pulse point.

At the final one, Angela gives a little gasp, enjoying the attention Fareeha is paying to what is always a rather sensitive part of her body.

“W-well,” says she, a bit shakily as Fareeha sucks hard enough to leave a mark, “I suppose you _do_ know my body fairly well.”

“I think,” Fareeha says, moving less suavely than she would like around from sitting behind Angela to sitting in front of her, “That I know you more than _fairly_ well.  But it couldn’t hurt for me to look at your other marks.  Just in case.”

“Is that so?” Angela asks her, catching the playful tone in her voice.

“Yes,” says she mock seriously, “You have one right here that I’m sure could use a second pair of eyes,” and she bends to bite at the mark just beneath Angela’s clavicle, more a nip than a kiss.

(Never mind that her tongue is giving the spot a far more thorough examination than her eyes.)

“A second opinion wouldn’t hurt, I suppose,” Angela acquiesces, as Fareeha moves to the mark just above one of her breasts.  “You never can be—” she pauses, for a moment as Fareeha moves, then to the mole on the side of her other breast, one hand moving up to rest against the back of Fareeha’s head, “—never be _too_ careful.”

“In that case,” Fareeha says, before she moves her mouth to hover above the smaller mark on Angela’s sternum, “I suppose I ought to check for lumps, too, while I’m here.”

“Very funny,” says Angela, as if she had not arched her back and pushed her breasts further towards Fareeha in response to the suggestion.

(It is a line Fareeha is certain Angela has heard before, but she imagines it has usually been the other way around, and so she has little shame when using it.  One might, of course, argue that Fareeha has little shame _in general_ when it comes to making jokes, but given that Angela has more than once used examining that an injury healed properly as the pretext for not-so-subtly staring at her, she has particularly little shame in this context.)

For good measure, Fareeha _does_ check that there are, indeed, no lumps, before allowing herself to fully enjoy how soft and full Angela’s breasts are in her hands, and the way she can feel beneath her palm as the nipple hardens in response to the stimulation.

Her other, prosthetic hand Fareeha moves upwards to gently push Angela down onto her back, so that she can move on to the mole a few centimeters to the right of her girlfriend’s belly button.  Angela acquiesces perhaps too quickly, hitting the mattress with a soft thud and bouncing slightly back upwards.  If Fareeha were not, herself, equally eager, and distracted by the way _other_ parts of Angela’s body bounced with the motion, she might remark upon it.  Instead she merely scoots forwards to position herself between Angela’s now open legs and to trail her mouth over the marks on her stomach.

Again, the give of their mattress prevents this movement from being entirely graceful, but if Angela notices she does not have time to comment before Fareeha’s mouth is returned to the sensitive skin of her stomach, and she shivers in response, moving one hand back, again, to Fareeha’s hair, threading her fingers through but not quite gripping enough to pull.  Fareeha appreciates the gesture, as she does not like it when her hair is actually _grabbed_ , even if she does enjoy the feedback being able to feel Angela’s fingers tense and untense provides. 

After a moment, she moves to the mole all the way on Angela’s side, pausing to enjoy the huff of a laugh Angela releases at the feeling of hot breath on her most ticklish point before she actually plants a kiss there.  By now, of course, she knows the appropriate amount of pressure to _not_ tickle her girlfriend when she does this, but it is fun to tease Angela like this, drawing things out.  After all, she has only one mole left before she reaches her goal.

Still, there is only so long she can delay, so she moves her mouth again to the mole just inside the hollow of Angela’s hipbone, sucking hard on the tender flesh there.  For her part, Angela seems to enjoy the feeling, arching into the touch, but scarcely a minute goes by before she begins nudging Fareeha’s head elsewhere, trying to move her just a handful of centimeters down and towards the center of her body.

Instead Fareeha pulls back, a grin on her face, “See,” says she, “I know exactly where all your moles are.”

Teasingly, she makes as if to move away, but Angela cuts her off with a whine, “ _Fareeha_ ,” she pouts, “Surely you aren’t done.”

In fact, Fareeha is not, but she cannot resist joking, “Unless there’s another _spot_ you’d like me to check….”

The look Angela gives her then is decidedly less sexy, and is rather the face of someone who, although they think they ought to have expected such a quip, still held out hope that the other party was above making it.

(Fareeha is fairly certain that secretly, Angela enjoys such jokes.  After all, she was well aware of Fareeha’s sense of humor, such as it is, before they began a relationship, and for all that she feigns offense she has never seemed to seriously object, which is good, considering that Fareeha far prefers to be able to make jokes while having sex.  It is all well and good to be serious _sometimes_ , and she is when the mood calls for it, but after a long, stressful mission, this is far more fun.)

“Perhaps,” Fareeha acquiesces, “There are a few more parts of your body that might benefit from my investigation.  Bits that are hard to see, and such.”

She grabs one of Angela’s thighs to move it over her shoulder and thinks, for a second, about teasing Angela further by making a show of checking the mole at the back of her heel, before ultimately discarding the idea and moving, instead to place her mouth against Angela’s core.

Despite the already considerable amount of time she has spent in getting here, Fareeha starts slowly, running her tongue over Angela’s labia but always stopping just short of her clit, pausing now and again to suck a portion of one into her mouth, as if she were considering the spot.  Above her, the noises Angela makes grow increasingly more impatient, and the hand at the back of her head presses her more insistently forwards. 

Still, she teases for quite some time, enjoys stimulating every centimeter of Angela in a variety of ways.  By now she knows, of course, what to do in which location to garner the greatest reaction, but she uses that familiarity to her advantage, moving from extremely sensitive points to less stimulating ones and back again, so that Angela cannot quite adjust to any one feeling.  After all, she knows, too, that Angela likes to be teased, likes to be put in a position where she feels compelled to admit just how much she is enjoying this, and ask—no, beg—for more.

When Fareeha senses that Angela is at last reaching that point, she pulls back just far enough to be heard clearly, and says exaggeratedly, “Hmm, I don’t see any sort of marks here.  Are you sure I shouldn’t be looking for spots elsewhere?”

(This is a white lie—she knows, if she looked for them, that she _could_ find scars on Angela’s labia, has seen them before, but she has never commented on them, and is not about to begin now.  They are not particularly noticeable—in fact, she did not know they existed until Angela mentioned, in passing and privately, that part of the reason she had worked on improving her nanotechnology to reduce post-use scarring was her own troubles with scar tissue post-vaginoplasty—and although they _could_ be used for some sort of pun related to Fareeha’s current ‘mission,’ she is not willing to risk the joke, not knowing what Angela’s comfort level with such would be.)

“Fareeha,” Angela says, trying—and failing, given the breathiness of her voice, the flush to her face, the sweat on her skin—to sound stern, “You know very well that—”

She cuts off, abruptly, when Fareeha moves a single finger to circle around the outside of her clit.

“I suppose,” Fareeha says, “I _could_ check just one more spot.”

“ _Fareeha_ ,” Angela repeats, and this time it is more a plea than anything else.

Tonight, Fareeha will acquiesce easily.  There will be time enough for more teasing another day, and Angela has been relatively patient thus far.  “Maybe,” says she, moving the hood of Angela’s clit with her fingers, “If I check under here…”

Before Angela can respond to her comment, she moves her mouth directly to her clit, knowing, due to their previous experiences together, that after this long of a build-up, she does not have to worry about her initial contact being too much for Angela, and she can begin in earnest without taking too much time for her girlfriend to adjust.

Here, too, is familiarity helpful, she knows what rhythm to use to maximize Angela’s enjoyment, knows from the trembling of Angela’s thighs when she is letting things build _too_ quickly, and from the insistent pressure at the back of her head when she is moving too slowly, knows also that, on nights like this, when they spend more time on foreplay, Angela does not need and often does not want the additional stimulus of penetration.

Playing curious is all well and good, but this—the taste of Angela, the sounds she makes, the warmth of her against Fareeha’s face, even the slight annoyance of her pubic hair tickling at Fareeha’s nose—this is the sort of experience which has taught Fareeha that, while being curious is all well and good, now and again, it is nice to _know_ some things, to have some constants in life.

Constants such as this: the way Angela’s fingers tense and untense in her hair, her girlfriend being careful to avoid pulling but struggling, slightly, against the urge to grasp at something, _anything_ as her arousal builds.

(This need to _grab_ things was one of the principle points of Fareeha’s—successful—argument, when they began living together, that it is, in fact, necessary to have a top sheet on the bed.)

Constants such as this: the way Angela rolls her hips against Fareeha’s face, even if only ever very gently, having remained unconvinced, after Fareeha assured her that it would not be a problem, that there was no need to worry about jerking too suddenly and hurting Fareeha.

(Admittedly, there have been a few uncomfortably hard jerks in the heat of the moment during the course of their relationship, but none that caused anything more than a minor inconvenience, and certainly no _injury_.)

Constants such as this: the way her name sounds on Angela’s lips when she finally lets her girlfriend come, repeated over and over as if it were the only word left in Angela’s vocabulary, _Fareeha, Fareeha, Fareeha._

(Other nights, there are different words mixed in, _I love you_ , said in the same tone in every language Angela knows.  Perhaps they are synonymous, in her mind.)

Constants such as this: the way Angela gradually relaxes against her, thighs falling farther open, hips returning fully to the mattress, hand in her hair switching to rubbing gentle patterns against the back of her head.

(Once, Fareeha joked about it, said Angela did not need to rub her like some kind of cat, was transitioning into a pussy joke when she was interrupted by her girlfriend fervently apologizing.  Fareeha appreciated the concern, of course, the attention paid to her boundaries, but still rued the loss of the opportunity to make the pun.)

Constants such as this: the way Angela props herself up and beckons Fareeha for a kiss, despite disliking the taste of herself on Fareeha’s mouth, because after an orgasm she wants nothing more than to curl up around her lover.

(Perhaps she will reciprocate in a few minutes, perhaps it will wait until morning, or tomorrow—Fareeha does not really care.  Most of the time, when she goes down on Angela, it is not because she is seeking reciprocation, and Angela does the same for her often enough that she is quite satisfied.  And in truth, if she really cared, she would have insisted on going first, knowing as she does by now that Angela is _very_ prone to falling asleep post-orgasm.)

Despite neither of them being dressed for sleep, Angela entirely nude and herself still in the t-shirt and sweat she changed into on the flight back to the Watchpoint, Fareeha is content to lie beside Angela and pull the blankets over the both of them.  Experience tells her that they will fall asleep like this, and regret in the morning that neither of them took the time to wash their faces, to brush out their hair, to clean their teeth, and it also tells her that, in the grand scheme of things, letting such routine fall by the wayside now and again is not such a terrible risk. 

(She thinks, however, that if Angela is intent on paying her back for tonight, she might insist that they both brush their teeth first.)

It feels silly, now, that she ever worried about things becoming too familiar.  Knowing what will happen between them tomorrow, and the day after, she is not bored, but _hopeful._ Such knowledge gives her something to look forward to, every day.

**Author's Note:**

> in re: fareeha not thinking abt moles and skin cancer as a possibility--although poc are far less likely to get skin cancer, the survival rate is like... 20% lower... bc white ppl are more likely to detect skin cancer early (in part bc theyre more likely to be taught to take strange moles seriously). so be safe in the sun! dont rely on melanin to keep u protected, & get new moles checked if they are >1cm, irregularly shaped, or concern u in any other way. yes the survival rate for skin cancer is high, but once uve had one kind of cancer the chance of having another kind goes up pretty significantly, and even high survival rate cancers are no joke
> 
> also its canon in ovw universe that cancer has yet to be cured (see the legacy comic). i guess angela not trying to cure it makes sense bc she only became a doctor in response to the deaths of their parents, and traumatic injury and cancer are two VERY different things. still like, there are other doctors. a million of them. what are THEY doing?
> 
> reference to vaginoplasty of course because angela is trans. cis women also get smtg called vaginoplasty sometimes but that procedure is ENTIRELY different (ladies... please dont get ur vag surgically "tightened" for a man), and wouldnt leave any sort of visible scarring on the labia. a lot of surgeons claim this leaves no scarring at all, which is untrue, but what scarring there is is usually not the sort of thing anyone would notice UNLESS it was pointed out to them, and your face would have to be... well literally right in someones crotch. so its very likely to be overlooked
> 
> in any case, hope u enjoyed some (mostly) fluffy smut, and hope ur having a good day. comments are, as ever, appreciated
> 
> stay safe and WEAR SUNSCREEN


End file.
